


Tomorrow Will Not Be Kinder

by lunasenzanotte



Series: La Liga Games [2]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Character Death, F/M, La Liga, M/M, Spain, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-15 04:37:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2216097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunasenzanotte/pseuds/lunasenzanotte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After last years’ La Liga Games almost ended in rebellion, The Capitol decided to alter the rules. And the reaping is just a beginning. But what The Capitol doesn’t know that now there are people who are not going to the arena just to die for the amusement of the others...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This is Part 2 of Never In Our Favor. The new season is here, and with it the new La Liga Games! Prepare your tissues and cheer for your favorite team. If they die, you can blame me or The Capitol...
> 
> Because I will be breaking your hearts from the start.
> 
> List of tributes:
> 
> ATLETICO MADRID: Gabi, Diego Godín  
> BARCELONA: Luis Suárez, Marc Bartra  
> REAL MADRID: Toni Kroos, James Rodríguez  
> ATHLETIC BILBAO: Iker Muniain, Aritz Aduriz  
> SEVILLA: Éver Banega, Daniel Carriço  
> VILLARREAL: Giovani dos Santos, Ikechukwu Uche  
> REAL SOCIEDAD: Esteban Granero, Xabi Prieto  
> VALENCIA: Dani Parejo, Hélder Postiga  
> CELTA VIGO: Michael Krohn-Dehli, Santi Mina  
> LEVANTE: Loukas Vyntra, Pape Diop  
> MALAGA: Jesús Gámez, Welington  
> RAYO VALLECANO: Antonio Amaya, Roberto Trashorras

_“Instead of the tributes being reaped, the last Victor from the district will choose the two tributes.”_  
  
It’s obviously supposed to be the punishment for the last two Victors, but also a way to ensure that no volunteers will try to influence the Games the way Diego Alves did.  
  
Sergio still believes that Diego volunteered mainly because of Paco, because in reality if you want to lead a revolt against the Capitol, getting yourself killed by the Capitol isn’t the best way to get started. But compassion and self-sacrifice isn’t anything the Capitol understands.  
  
Still, it leaves him the last Valencia Victor, and also the only mentor the tributes will have after Jonas disappeared after last Games. Sergio doesn’t know what explanation the Capitol wants to give when the public starts asking about him (and Jonas was actually quite popular, mainly because when he got really drunk, he was capable of producing some funny situations). He will probably find out in the Capitol.  
  
But now it’s time to watch the reaping, because there’s nothing else to do on the train until they reach the Capitol and because it’s always better to know who they will be dealing with once they get there.  
  
 _Real Madrid badge appears on the screen. Pilar Rubio in a bright pink dress is standing on the stage, looking a bit nervous. These Games have a whole different scenario, which means she has to say different things from those she has learned over the years._  
  
 _“Welcome, welcome,” she starts with the usual formula. “This is the 51st year of the Hunger Games. As we all know, the rules have been altered by our President and the Head Gamemaker, José Mourinho. The last Victor of the district will choose the two tributes. Let me remind you that there will be no volunteers.”_  
  
 _She overlooks the crowd and smiles._  
  
 _“Please, welcome the last Victor of Real Madrid, Cristiano Ronaldo!” she says then._  
  
 _There is a loud applause, almost like everyone is persuaded that if they clap their hands with enough enthusiasm, Cristiano won’t pick them. Cristiano walks up to the stage, feigning indifference. Pilar looks at him and smiles brightly._  
  
 _“Do you have the first name, Cristiano?” she asks._  
  
 _“Yes,” Cristiano says calmly and looks almost like he supposes the person in question to rejoice after he says it. “Toni Kroos.”_  
  
 _The cameras find a young man standing in the third row. He looks surprised, but not really angry or scared. He steps out of the crowd and walks up the stage._  
  
 _“Very well,” Pilar coos, obviously satisfied that there is no drama. “Our first tribute, Toni Kroos!”_  
  
 _The crowd clap their hands. Pilar then turns to Cristiano again._  
  
 _“And the second?”_  
  
 _This time Cristiano makes a pause, either to make the atmosphere more tense, or because he’s not sure about his decision._  
  
 _“James Rodríguez,” he says then._  
  
 _The crowd stirs and then the cameras find the tribute, a young man standing at the back of the crowd, holding a child in his arms. His face is completely shocked like he can’t understand what has just happened. The woman next to him looks terrified and her eyes are moving like she is looking for something or someone. If this was a normal situation, she would be looking for a volunteer, but there will be none this year._  
  
 _Pilar waits for a moment, but nothing happens. She turns to Cristiano and there is actually a bit of surprise in that look, like she also can’t understand his choice, but Cristiano is absolutely calm._  
  
 _“Would you please join us here?” Pilar asks in a soft voice when the situation gets too awkward._  
  
 _The words are met with complete silence._  
  
 _Only when the Capitol guards start walking towards the place where James is standing, he hands the child over to the woman and steps out of the line. Pilar smiles encouragingly._  
  
 _“Very well,” she says and clears her throat. “It can be a bit overwhelming, eh?”_  
  
 _She reaches for James’ hand before he even walks the last two steps, like she wants to make sure he doesn’t run away, and squeezes it a bit, in a silent plea for “don’t make my life a hell on Earth”._  
  
 _“Ladies and gentlemen, our two tributes for Real Madrid, Toni Kroos and James Rodríguez!” she announces. “May the odds be ever in your favor!”_  
  
“Cristiano has officially gone mental now,” Sergio mumbles.  
  
 _Barcelona is next. Shakira is wearing an electric blue dress and she has the same attitude as always. She waits patiently for Carles Puyol, the last Victor, to walk up the stairs that lead to the stage. His knees suffered some major damage in the arena and not even the doctors in the Capitol could cure him completely._  
  
 _“Who is the first tribute, Carles?” Shakira asks._  
  
 _Puyol doesn’t miss a beat._  
  
 _“Luis Suárez,” he says._  
  
 _Suárez grins, which means that everyone sees what will be his biggest weapon – his teeth. He almost jumps up on the stage._  
  
 _“Our first tribute, Luis Suárez,” Shakira says, pulling up the sleeve of her dress because Suárez is watching her bare shoulder hungrily. “Now for the second. Carles?”_  
  
 _“Marc Bartra.”_  
  
Sergio blinks in surprise and moves closer to the screen unwittingly. He expected Puyol to choose someone like Suárez, or at least someone like Pedro last year, but Marc is a youngster, probably not older than Sergi was last year. But there is no surprise in his face and when he joins them on the stage, Puyol squeezes his shoulder and Marc gives a small smile.  
  
 _The Atlético Madrid badge follows. Sara Carbonero of course looks perfect in her white dress and red shoes, and she is trying to help Koke as much as she can, because he looks like he doesn’t even want to join her on the stage._  
  
 _“Nice to see you again,” she smiles and touches his arm lightly in a subtle “pull yourself together” message._  
  
 _“Nice to see you too, Sara,” Koke nods._  
  
 _“So, you have to tell us two names now,” Sara says slowly, making sure he understands what he has to do. “Two tributes to represent your district in this year’s Games. I know there wasn’t much time, but did you give it a thought?”_  
  
 _Koke looks positively terrified already. The cameras circle above the crowd. Javier, Óliver and Saúl are still holding hands, looking up at the stage with worried looks. Probably they don’t fear that Koke will pick one of them, but they are rather praying for him not to do anything stupid._  
  
 _“It’s hard,” Koke whispers. “I mean...”_  
  
 _“You surely know a person who could be a Victor,” Sara smiles. “Follow in your footsteps.”_  
  
 _Koke nods slowly._  
  
 _“Gabi,” he says. “Gabriel Fernández.”_  
  
 _The man in question opens his eyes that he was keeping closed the whole time, and walks up the stage. Sara welcomes him and makes him stand next to Koke._  
  
 _“Sorry,” Koke mouths to him._  
  
 _Gabi pats him on the shoulder calmly._  
  
 _“And now for the second tribute. In such a brave district, we definitely have more brilliant people, but only one can become a tribute. So, Koke?”_  
  
 _“Diego Godín.”_  
  
 _Godín looks surprised, but not scared or angry. He walks up the stage, shakes hands with Gabi and whispers something to Koke. Koke even cracks a smile after that and Sara hugs them all, so when the screen goes black, the atmosphere of friendship and calmness is still radiating through it._  
  
 _It’s time for Athletic._  
  
 _Iturraspe looks way more composed than Koke did. When the escort, Ingrid, asks him for the first name, he says “Iker Muniain” without hesitating, which means that obviously Muniain wanted to volunteer anyway and had asked him to pick him. The wink Muniain gives him after he walks up the stairs only confirms it._  
  
 _“And the second?” the escort asks._  
  
 _A man in the first row makes a “What’s up?” gesture. Iturraspe shakes his head slightly._  
  
 _“Aritz Aduriz,” he says._  
  
 _Aduriz is on the stage before anyone can blink, obviously happy to be picked when he wasn’t hoping for it. He is much older than Muniain, probably more experienced and less hot-headed. They surely are an interesting pair._  
  
Sergio has to give it to Iturraspe, he’s after winning even as a mentor.  
  
 _Sevilla’s last Victor is Andrés Palop who won the Games probably when Sergio was still a kid because he doesn’t really remember him. He picks Éver Banega and Daniel Carrico, and while Carrico seems to be really mad at him, Banega looks like he doesn’t even care._  
  
 _In Villarreal, the former Victor is some old man whose name nobody remembers anymore. He also apparently has hearing impairment and the escort has to yell at him so that he can hear her. When she asks him to tell her a name, he looks at her and asks “Why?”, after which everyone knows that he’s completely senile and doesn’t even understand why he is standing on the stage. After a while of explaining, he ends up picking Ikechukwu Uche, whom he considers “a good boy, he mows my lawn for free”, and Giovani dos Santos, whom he doesn’t even know, he just points at him and yells at the escort to leave him alone already._  
  
 _Real Sociedad pick Esteban Granero and Xabi Prieto. The former Victor whom Sergio knows as a mentor seems to be hoping to improve Real Sociedad’s reputation after it suffered a major damage last year after what Rubén Pardo showed in the arena._  
  
 _And then, the Valencia badge appears._  
  
Sergio doesn’t have to look, because the two people he picked are now sitting next to him.  
  
He understood immediately that there were two ways the former Victors could approach the situation. Either they could pick people they thought had a real chance to win, or they could pick people they didn’t like, as a revenge, or people they didn’t know, didn’t care about, to make the situation easier for them.  
  
Sergio didn’t want to choose any of the two. He didn’t know anyone in Valencia who would be a clear winner for the Games, and he didn’t want to hurt anyone either. That’s why he was rather clueless even when he was already standing on the stage.  
  
He picked Dani Parejo because Dani himself pointed a finger at his own chest discreetly, asking to be picked, for whatever reason. And he picked Hélder Postiga because he was the toughest person Sergio knew and besides, Hélder’s life was so miserable that going to the Games could only be an improvement.  
  
“You look good on camera, Dani,” Hélder notes.  
  
“Thanks,” Dani grins. “I hope it will help me.”  
  
 _The badge that follows is the one of Celta Vigo._  
  
“Wait,” Sergio says. “Where’s Espanyol?”  
  
 _“Welcome!” the escort, a blonde woman Sergio doesn’t know, says. “The citizens of Celta Vigo have the great honor of replacing Espanyol in La Liga Games this year!”_  
  
“Sure, but why?” Sergio mumbles.  
  
 _“Unfortunately, Espanyol didn’t meet the annual quotas and was thus stripped of the status of the main district,” the woman explains._  
  
It’s the first time Sergio hears about something called “annual quotas”.  
  
 _“As this district obviously doesn’t have a former Victor, the major of the district will be the one to choose the tributes.”_  
  
 _A middle-aged man walks up the stage and for reasons that are not clear to anyone outside the district, selects Michael Krohn-Dehli and Santi Mina._  
  
 _Levante follows, selecting Loukas Vyntra and Pape Diop. Málaga is replacing Granada and names Jesús Gámez and Welington._  
  
 _The last district is Rayo Vallecano, replacing Getafe. The major seems to have at least put some effort into selecting someone who has a real chance to do well. Antonio Amaya looks at least fierce and Roberto Trashorras looks kind of smart and sneaky._  
  
“Well,” Dani says and looks at Sergio. “What do you say?”  
  
“Nothing,” Sergio mumbles.  
  
“I say I am going to have some of that delicious food now,” Hélder says. “I might be dead in two weeks, so I better fill up that coffin well.”  
  
“Good idea,” Dani nods and follows him to the dining car.  
  
Sergio remains sitting in front of the now dark screen, trying to grasp how all of a sudden nobody seems to mind dying.  
  
He fails miserably.


	2. Two

The moment the train door closes behind them, James turns to Cristiano.

“Why the hell did you do it?” he yells.

“Because I think you can win,” Cristiano says calmly and pours himself a drink. “You have a face I can sell.”

“I’m also married and I have a daughter, did you think about that?”

“Yes,” Cristiano nods. “I call it  _special motivation_.”

If Iker and Toni didn’t hold him back in that moment, James would have probably tried to strangle Cristiano right then and there.

“Calm down!” Iker growls and pushes James to the door of the nearest compartment. “Let’s talk.”

He bangs the door behind them and locks it in case Cristiano is suicidal and wants to tell James about more of his ideas.

“Listen to me,” Iker says then. “You have to stop this. It’s done. You’re in the Games now. There’s no way back. So you have to stop pitying yourself and focus on winning.”

“Why did he do it?” James asks in a broken voice.

“Because if Cristiano Ronaldo had a heart before the last year’s Games, what happened to Álvaro destroyed all that was left of it,” Iker says quietly. “He doesn’t care about who you are. He only cares about keeping his face now. And to keep his face he needs a winner. Because he was a winner once, but that was years ago, and now he needs to be a successful mentor as well. Otherwise the Capitol will soon forget him.”

“But why does he think that  _I_  will win, for fuck’s sake?”

“He surely has a reason,” Iker shrugs. “And if Cristiano thinks you can win, it means that you definitely can.”

“Whatever,” James says and looks at the plush carpet on the floor. “I can’t have him as my mentor. I’ll punch his face the moment I see him again.”

“That’s fine,” Iker says. “I’ll be your mentor. He’ll keep Toni.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Iker smiles. “He doesn’t always have to have the favorite.”

*

Mikel San José runs in the room where the mentors and new tributes are saying their goodbyes before getting on the train.

“You had no right!” he yells at Iturraspe.

“I had  _every_ right!” Iturraspe snaps.

“You knew I wanted to go!”

“You can. Next year.”

“Why not this year when Iker goes this year?”

“ _Because_  he goes this year. I was only going to let one of you go. I’d never let you go against each other.”

Muniain lays a hand on Mikel’s shoulder.

“Hey, it’s no big deal,” he says. “You’ll go next year and I’ll at least have a better neighbor in the Victor’s Village when you win. Living there just with Itu and Llorente would suck.”

Mikel pouts, but then hugs Iker and sighs.

“Good luck,” he says. “Come back soon.”

“No worries, I’ll just clean up the arena and I’m home,” Iker grins.

When Mikel is gone, he turns to Iturraspe.

“Did you choose an easy opponent for me?” he asks.

“Would you want me to choose an easy opponent?”

“No.”

“Fine. Because Aritz is a good opponent. And could be a good ally.”

“We’ll see,” Iker makes a face. “I’m not really into the ally tactics. But yeah, I don’t like hunting. So if he gets us food, I will consider it.”

*

Koke looks so miserable on the train that Sara goes to the dining car to ask for some chocolate and Diego Godín takes it upon himself to cheer his mentor up while Gabi is talking to Villa.

“Why does this have to exist?” Koke asks, after which Sara feeds him a huge piece of chocolate to keep him quiet at least for a while.

“Look at it from the better side,” Gabi says.

Koke looks at him like “Excuse me, what is the better side, you’re probably going to die and it’s me who killed you.”

“At least you had control over who would go, and you could make sure it wouldn’t be any of the boys,” Gabi explains. “I wouldn’t want to offend them, but me and Diego here still have a bit better chances.”

“No doubt,” Diego nods. “I do have a slightly better aim than Saúl. After all, I never broke a neighbor’s window while kicking a ball.”

“Did he break yours?” Koke asks with surprise. “He never told me.”

“About six times. I gave up on changing that particular glass already.”

“Well,” Sara jumps in. “We should talk about the presentation a bit. I need to know what to tell the stylists.”

“So... I want light blue hair and fake eyelashes,” Godín says.

Sara slaps him over the back and pulls out her tablet.

*

When Sergio enters the dining car, Dani and Hélder are indeed stuffing themselves with the food the cooks from Capitol prepared.

“The legends were true,” Hélder says with his mouth still full. “The Capitol lamb stew is amazing.”

Dani nods and helps himself to another piece of meat. Sergio sits at the table and folds his arms.

“You’re not hungry?” Dani asks him.

“No,” Sergio says.

He’s quiet for some time before the emotions in him bubble up and he just can’t take it anymore.

“Dani, why the hell did you ask me to pick you?” he asks.

Dani finishes his meal calmly and looks at him.

“Are there any cameras here?” he asks.

“No, there are no cameras on the train,” Sergio furrows his brows.

At least he thinks so because nobody’s ever seen any footage from the train and Jonas was never afraid of discussing tactics on the train.

“Fine,” Dani nods and checks that the door of the car is closed. “So listen.”

*

The compartment on the train from Bilbao is dim and quiet. They have a whole night before they arrive to the Capitol.

“The doctor said two,” Fernando Llorente says when Iturraspe unscrews a bottle of pills.

“But this is...”

“This is the fourth one,” Fernando says resolutely and twists the bottle out of his hand.

“Please,” Iturraspe whispers. “Please, I want to get some sleep. I  _need_ to get some sleep, I’m supposed to coach tributes here, for fuck’s sake!”

Fernando sighs. Everyone has a secret that is not really a secret because the former winners meet each other quite ofter and they know each other more than people think. Everyone has a scar, something irreparable that will remind them of the Games forever.

David Silva is afraid of water. Cristiano Ronaldo is a heartless bastard. Sergio Canales has nightmares about fire. Fernando sleeps with a light on.

Ander Iturraspe talks to dead people.

Over the months, Fernando somehow even learned to guess who was the invisible visitor in their bedroom most of the times. Diego Alves was a regular guest, Sergi Roberto paid them a visit quite often as well. But those were the calmer nights when Ander just whispered and sometimes even smiled.

Whenever Carlos Gurpegui entered Ander’s dreams, though, Fernando would switch the bigger lamp on and shake Ander until he woke up, because those visits scared the hell out of Fernando and he wasn’t even the one seeing Carlos and talking to him.

“You’re going to look like a zombie anyway,” Fernando sighs but gives up and hands the bottle back. “You should see the doctor in the Capitol and ask him to give you something else.”

Iturraspe doesn’t look like he’s even listening to him anymore, he swallows another pill and curls up under the blanket.

*

Pilar is nervously looking from one person at another during breakfast. She and Iker managed to get James to have breakfast with the others, but he and Cristiano are still sitting the furthest possible from each other and the atmosphere is so tense that nobody really eats anything.

“We’re almost in the Capitol,” Iker says after breakfast when he and James are alone. “So we need to talk about the strategy.”

“If you ask me to grin like an idiot, I’ll strangle you.”

“On the contrary,” Iker says with a serious face. “I don’t want to ever see you smile, not even for a second. Never. Are we clear?”

“That won’t be difficult.”

“Good. Remember – the stylists are a part of our team, but they are nobody you can trust. You have to keep your game up in front of them as you would in front of everyone in the Capitol. Be polite, but not overly nice. Let them do their work, but don’t show any enthusiasm.”

“That’s also easy.”

“Fine. We’ll talk about other things later. We need to see what else is new in the Capitol, because these Games are most likely going to be different.”

“The most important things stays the same,” James says gloomily.

“And what is that?” Iker asks.

“Twenty-three people out of twenty-four are going to die.”

*

Iturraspe and Llorente are looking with interest at the stylists fretting over Muniain and Aduriz to get them ready for the parade.

“After last year they dropped the thing with jerseys,” the stylist explains.

“After Florentino almost mixed up Atlético and Athletic?” Iturraspe asks.

The stylist giggles like he just said the joke of the century.

“No. I mean, they said something about it being bad for the feeling of unity... you know, it showed that you belonged somewhere, and the President thinks that we should be all united under the Capitol.”

“That’s deep,” Iturraspe nods and Llorente has to hide his face in his scarf, pretending he has to sneeze.

“Yeah...” the stylist says. “You know, I had this awesome idea of flower crowns, but...”

Aduriz gives her a skeptical look and Muniain looks like if she tries to put a flower crown on his head, he will shove it down her throat.

“We’ll drop that,” she says.

*

The lights are shining right in Marc Bartra’s face and he sort of feels like he’s about to undergo some surgery he didn’t agree to. Three women above him are arguing about the shape of his eyebrows.

“Natural? Nobody wants to see natural!” one of them exclaims.

“You heard Shakira,” the other one says resolutely. “She said just make him pretty.”

“Yeah,” the third one nods. “We just need to bring those eyes out.”

She grabs a pair of tweezers and brings it to his face. Marc yelps when she plucks the first hair.

“It might be a bit uncomfortable,” she chatters. “It always is the first time. But it’s going to look so much  _better_.”

Soon it feels just like she’s scratching his face repeatedly and the stinging becomes less intense. The other girl is getting ready another tool in the meanwhile, programming something on it which causes it to bleep.

“Don’t be scared, this won’t hurt, it will just clean your face,” she smiles when she notices his worried glance.

Marc is about to object that he washes his face because contrary to the popular belief among the citizens of Capitol, they do have soap and toothpaste in Barcelona, but in that moment a terrible high-pitched noise sounds somewhere next to his ear and something warm touches his cheek.

It indeed doesn’t hurt, it’s more or less pleasant, and he relaxes again.

“Did you ask Nuria for the teeth-polishing tool?” the girl cleaning his face asks her colleague.

“Yes. She said they still needed it for Suárez. Apparently it takes a bit more time.”

“No wonder,” Marc mumbles and the girls giggle.

He gives up all objections when they do his hair because they seem to have a really clear idea of what it should look like and he obviously has no say in it. When they get to the final touches he’s already so tired that he’s convinced he will pull a Felipe Mattioni during the parade and fall out of the carriage.

“Can you make a fish-face?” one girl asks, holding a brush in one hand and a powder in the other.

Marc stares at her.

“I need to contour your cheekbones. A fish face,” she repeats and looks at her colleagues confusedly. “They don’t know fish face in Barcelona?”

The other two girls shrug and then suck in their cheeks.

“Fish face!” they explain. “There’s also a duck face, but that’s silly.”

_But fish face is very intelligent_ , Marc thinks, but when he sees the enthusiasm on the girls’ faces, he can’t be even mad. After all, there are other people he should be mad with.

The girls then show him to the dressing room and he realizes that he doesn’t even care what they want him to wear.

“If this one dies, I’m  _so_  going to cry,” one of the girls sighs.  


 


	3. Three

The crowd is impatiently waiting for the tributes to parade in front of them. Florentino is ready on his stage, together with Mourinho who this year looks slightly more nervous.

_Toni’s smiling face is the first thing to appear on the big screens and the crowd cheers when he waves to them. They fall silent the moment the camera shifts._

_James is dressed in plain black clothes with no decorations whatsoever. He’s pale and his face doesn’t really have any expression. He looks like the angel of Death._

“Well done,” Cristiano says and looks at Iker.

“Don’t talk to me,” Iker growls. “You’re a sick bastard. I’m just trying to save what you destroyed.”

_The Barcelona carriage appears next. Luis Suárez keeps showing his teeth to everyone, waving a fist in the air._

“I think we have a new Costa,” Llorente whispers to Iturraspe.

“Definitely,” Iturraspe nods. “Though this one is more dangerous. Costa needed a weapon, this one has it already.”

_Marc Bartra’s tactics remain a mystery. He looks like his mind is somewhere completely else, but his looks are enough get him some popularity already._

_Gabi and Godín are giggling over something, most likely the clothes the Capitol people are wearing._

_Muniain and Aduriz of course look fierce and professional. Muniain ignores pretty much everyone and Aduriz looks like his dream has just come true. They are the only tributes that salute Florentino when their carriage passes him._

_Banega looks dangerous despite the ridiculous costume the Sevilla stylists gave him, and Carriço is shooting the other tributes worried glances, like he is already thinking about which one will kill him._

_The Real Sociedad tributes are trying to look as fierce as possible, probably aware that the reputation their district has after last year will not exactly get them many sponsors._

_Parejo and Postiga have a mischievous look on their faces the moment their carriage appears. When the cameras focus on them, they hold each other’s hands and hold them up. The cameraman is probably too shocked because he doesn’t manage to shift away from them quick enough, and confused whispering sounds through the crowd._

If it was any other year, Sergio would be close to fainting right now. Only that he doesn’t care anymore, even if he should disappear like Jonas did.

Florentino gets ready for his speech. The carriages stop in a semi-circle in front of him. The cameras focus on him.

“Welcome, tributes!” he says. “You have the honor to represent your districts this year, and the Capitol is happy to have you here. Only one can win, but I can tell you, each and every one who goes to the arena and tries to win for his people, for the unity, deserves respect. Make your districts and the Capitol proud!”

The crowd – and some tributes – clap their hands. The anthem sounds and the cameras show the faces of all the tributes, lingering on those who are for now the people’s favorites. James’ pale, unreadable face, Suárez and his ecstatic smile, Marc Bartra’s enigmatic expression supported by the overly contoured cheekbones, the Bilbao tributes with determined faces. They focus on the Valencia tributes hesitantly, but shift away probably when they catch Florentino’s furious glance.

Then the carriages ride back and the gates of the Training Centre close behind them. The cameras stop turning.

“Well,” Mourinho mumbles. “Good material.”

“No,” Florentino shakes his head. “This material is quite dangerous. Handle it with caution, Mourinho.”

*

“Let’s bet on who Karanka will bet on this year,” Villa says while the mentors are waiting for the elevators to arrive.

“I think Carriço looks like a good tribute for him,” Cristiano says. “He’s scared even of the Capitol food. He had no idea how to eat caviar.”

“When they picked you, you thought blue cheese was something they forgot to throw out,” Iker growls.

“Karanka needs someone more random,” Villa jumps in before they can start fighting again. “Uche, for example.”

Sergio’s elevator arrives first and he gets in together with Iturraspe and Llorente who are staying in the same building, just on another floor. Sergio gets out first, mumbling something in the sense of “good night” which the Bilbao mentors don’t even answer. Then he heads towards the automatic door that leads to his and his tributes’ rooms.

He stops when someone calls his name, turns around and almost screams.

It’s Jonas.

*

Back in their wing, Cristiano throws himself at the food left in the dining room, and Toni joins him. Iker beckons James and closes the door of his room behind them.

“Important talk now,” Iker says. “You have to decide who you are going to be in the arena before the training starts tomorrow.”

“What do you mean?”

Iker sighs.

“Are you going to kill people? As if, are you going to be the one that hunts them down and kills them to win?”

James gulps.

“No,” he shakes his head.

“Fine,” Iker says calmly. “Then we need to focus on the other thing.”

“What is that?”

“Surviving,” Iker says. “The longer you manage to survive, the bigger is your chance that you will only have to kill a few. Maybe one, though then you’d have to be extremely lucky. But you’ll need to let the other tributes kill each other first. To do that, you can’t poison yourself with food, die of thirst or hunger, hypothermia, drowning etc. There are actually more dangerous things in the arena than the other tributes.”

“What do I need to do?”

“In the training center, focus on that. Edible plants, fire making, traps for animals, stuff like that. Don’t care about weapons too much. If you’re not a master of swords, you won’t become one in a few days.”

“Okay,” James nods.

“There’s one problem, though,” Iker sighs. “As you’re not going to be the hunter, there’s a slim chance for an alliance.”

He scratches his head and then gets up.

“Don’t worry about it. Alliances will be my problem. You focus on what I told you, and mainly, never fall out of your role.”

“I don’t think I’m playing that much, actually,” James shrugs.

Iker nods somewhat sadly and then closes the door.

*

Fernando Llorente walks out on the roof. The cool air hits him in the face and makes him shiver, though maybe not as much as the sight of Iturraspe standing at the very edge of the roof.

“Ander,” he says softly, careful not to startle him.

“Don’t worry, I won’t jump,” Iturraspe says. “If I wanted to, I’d jump from Torre Isozaki. There’s not a fucking force field around it, at least.”

He drops a dried chestnut above the dark abyss and catches it when it comes back. Llorente laughs humorlessly. A firework starts somewhere in the city, dozens of colorful flowers exploding on the dark blue canvas.

“Last year I believed in all this,” Iturraspe says and steps back from the edge. “I believed that this was all that I wanted. To win. To be the hero.”

“And now?”

“Now I won, but I don’t feel like a hero. There were other heroes, and they didn’t win.”

“Maybe to win these Games, you have to be a bit of a coward,” Llorente says quietly.

“Yes,” Iturraspe breathes out. “That’s what I was. And what Gurpe wasn’t.”

*

“Where were you?” Sergio breathes out when he assures himself that it’s really Jonas, not just a hallucination.

“Here,” Jonas smiles.

“I thought... we all thought you were...”

“The Capitol realized that I needed help,” Jonas says and lowers his voice as if he’s ashamed. “You know, with the drinking and so on.”

Sergio just blinks. As far as he knows, the Capitol always provided Jonas with enough alcohol to keep him drunk and more funny for the cameras.

“And... did they help you?” he asks then.

“Yes. You see, I’m a new man!” Jonas smiles brightly.

He is indeed sober, maybe more sober than Sergio would ever imagine he could be. Jonas pours himself a glass of lemonade and sits on the sofa.

“It must have been hard, the new rule, I mean,” he says. “But you did well.”

“I killed two people,” Sergio whispers.

“Maybe not,” Jonas says calmly. “Maybe just one.”

Sergio shakes his head.

“They won’t win. They can’t win. Not with people like Aduriz, Muniain or Suárez in the arena.”

“They used to say the same thing about you. You were in the arena with Chygrynskyi and you won.”

Sergio shakes his head to get the memory of the particular former tribute out.

“So are you a mentor this year or not?” he asks.

He would honestly prefer Jonas to mentor the tributes because maybe then he wouldn’t feel so guilty when they would die. However selfish it is.

“No, not really,” Jonas shakes his head. “The Capitol wants me to help comment the Games from time to time. But I’m still here if you need me.”

Sergio nods. Jonas smiles and gets up. When he leaves, not swaying or stumbling over his feet anymore, Sergio feels more alone than ever.

*

In the morning the tributes head right for their first training session. By the time the last tributes arrive, there is already a minor fight in the training room because Suárez, unable to remember Uche’s first name, decides to call him “Ketchup”, which is obviously not approved of by the Villarreal tribute.

Muniain heads right to the weapon station where swords are placed.

“Wow, Muniain, are you sure about this? The sword is bigger than you!” Suárez laughs.

But when Muniain makes a few moves, it’s clear who his teacher was.

“If Iturraspe taught him to throw knives as well, we’re probably in trouble,” Godín whispers to Gabi.

James heads to the plants station that is currently abandoned as everyone is pretty much satisfied with using the weapons. Gabi looks skeptically at Granero, who is trying to hit a dummy with a spear that always flies a good meter above the dummy’s head, and picks up a bow. Carriço makes a few hesitant steps towards the spears, but then sees Aduriz pick one up and send it right into a dummy’s heart with such force that the dummy falls down. After that, Carriço retreats to the camouflage station and stays there until the end of the session.

It’s soon clear that there is a clique of the stronger tributes. They’re not allies yet, but they are sticking together, trying to figure each other out, trying to find out who they’d be compatible with, and mocking the others in the process.

“So...” Muniain asks and looks at Bartra. “Can you actually do anything or you got just that pretty face?”

Bartra finishes tying a knot and looks up calmly.

“I kind of hoped my face would be enough to impress you,” he says.

Muniain snorts and retreats back to the weapon station.

“He’s getting on my nerves already,” Postiga mumbles and looks at the fishing hook he’s just made. “Does this look like a fishing hook?”

“Um...” Bartra frowns. “Looks more like the tool they catch crocodiles with.”

“Right,” Postiga sighs. “I better stick to eating things that don’t move.”

*

The private session comes way too quickly. The tributes watch it in the privacy of their wings, with their mentors and escorts.

“I’m so nervous!” Sara says and Villa chooses an armchair out of her reach, remembering the way she clung to him throughout the last Games.

_Toni Kroos’ smiling face that is slowly but surely starting to annoy all of the other tributes, comes to the view. Then the number 7._

Sara frowns, like it somehow offends her.

_James’ face is next. The number 5 appears next to it._

Sara exchanges confused looks with Villa.

“So Cristiano really went mad?” she asks.

“The score isn’t everything,” Villa shrugs, but doesn’t sound convinced either.

Then they focus on the screen again because it’s time for Gabi and Godín.

_Gabi’s picture appears first, and then the number 9 spins next to it and stops._

“Wow, that’s great!” Sara exclaims and claps her hands.

_Godín’s picture follows, with the number 8 next to it._

“Well done, boys!” Sara grins and hugs them both.

_They go silent when Suárez’s picture appears on the screen. He scores a 10._

“He’s so overrated,” Sara pouts.

“Well, if you ripped something apart with your teeth it would impress the Gamemakers as well,” Koke mumbles.

Sara is about to retort something, but then Villa pulls on her sleeve.

_Marc Bartra scores a 10 as well._

“What?” Sara exclaims. “But... you two said he just sat there tying knots and learning how to start a fire! That wouldn’t be enough for a ten!”

Gabi and Godín just shrug. Koke is starting to get miserable again and Villa starts scratching his soul patch.

_It’s 11 for both Muniain and Aduriz. Nobody expects anything else._

_Éver Banega gets an 8, which is impressive for someone from Sevilla. Carriço scores a 6, which is actually surprising, considering his attitude throughout the week._

_Giovani dos Santos gets a 4._

“That guy doesn’t know where he is,” Sara mumbles.

_Ikechukwu Uche gets a 7._

Gabi highly suspects it was for his skills with a machete. Never write the gardener off.

_Esteban Granero gets a 5 because he apparently didn’t improve his skills with spears enough. Xabi Prieto, on the contrary, scores a decent 7._

_Dani Parejo gets an 8, Hélder Postiga a 5._

_The remaining tributes all score between 4 and 6, with the exception of Gámez who manages an 8._

“Any idea for allies?” Sara asks.

“We are allies,” Godín frowns and hugs Gabi like they are two schoolgirls. “Everyone else can fuck off.”

Sara rolls her eyes and looks at Villa.

“I hope you can talk some sense into them until tomorrow,” she says.

*

The host supposed to interview the tributes is dressed in cheerful pink suit and looks relieved that there will be no Modrić to interview this year.

_Toni appears on the stage in a perfectly fitted white suit. He is all smiles, praises everything in the Capitol from the food to the lavender toilet paper._

“I think I’m going to throw up,” Banega growls.

It’s actually the first time the other tributes hear him speak, and they couldn’t agree more.

_James walks up the stage, dressed still in black, though this time the stylists added a couple silver details._

_“So,” the host flashes him a shiny smile. “You out of all the tributes have probably the biggest motivation to win.”_

_“I don’t know if I want to win,” James says quietly._

_“Excuse me, I don’t think that I understand,” the host says and leans closer. “If you win, you can come back to your wife and daughter.”_

_“Yes,” James nods. “But then in a few years, my daughter will look at the records from these Games, and she will see me killing people in the arena. And I don’t know if I want that to happen.”_

_There is complete silence in the audience. The host laughs uneasily and ends the interview._

_Gabi has the steady, down-to-earth attitude, while Godín jokes all the time. Suárez doesn’t get the jokes the host makes about his teeth and takes them all seriously. Marc Bartra actually laughs during the interview, confusing everyone even more._

_When it’s time for Dani Parejo’s interview, the host becomes a bit nervous, definitely warned by Mourinho._

_“So, what is your favorite weapon, Dani?” he asks._

_“My brain,” Dani replies calmly._

_The host recognizes Diego Alves’ quote from last year and becomes even more nervous._

_“So... have you made any allies yet?” he asks._

_Dani narrows his eyes._

_“Do you honestly think that I will tell you that now?” he asks. “Then we could have the whole Games right here on the stage.”_

_The crowd laughs while the host’s face is bright red. He wraps the interview up quickly._

When the interviews are over, the tributes, mentors, escorts and stylists head back to their rooms. James looks in disbelief at Muniain, Aduriz and Iturraspe, who are singing some Basque song, looking ecstatic. Llorente doesn’t join in, but laughs with them. James feels almost sick when he imagines in the morning he will be in the arena. The last thing he would want to do now is to sing.

“I need to speak to a few people,” Iker tells him. “Go to bed and try to get some sleep.”

“Not sure I’ll be able to fall asleep,” James sighs.

“Try,” Iker says and then pats him on the back. “Everything’s going to be okay. I promise.”

He glances at Cristiano and Toni, who are enjoying the praises of the stylists, and heads towards the exit. He has a long night ahead.  


 


	4. Four

The morning comes way too early. When Iker joins Cristiano, Toni and James for the last breakfast, he looks like he didn’t get even a minute of sleep.  
  
“You’re too invested, Iker,” Cristiano drawls. “It’s not good for your health.”  
  
“Shut up,” Iker growls.  
  
“Been chasing sponsors all night? You know I get the richest ones, don’t you?” Cristiano smirks and scoops some more low-fat yoghurt in his bowl.  
  
Iker just shakes his head. They stay silent until the Capitol guards walk in to tell them it’s time to get on the hovercraft. Iker pulls James away for a moment.  
  
“You know what to do. Stay away from the Cornucopia. When the gong goes off, run. There’s nothing to wait for.”  
  
“What about the supplies?”  
  
“If something falls on your head, grab it. Otherwise leave it there. It’s not worth a knife in the back.”  
  
James bites his lip and nods. They walk out of the building where a huge white hovercraft is waiting.  
  
“So, that’s it?” James asks.  
  
Iker glances towards the small groups of mentors and tributes. Godín and Gabi are desperately trying to cheer up Koke, Carles Puyol is frantically whispering something to Marc Bartra. Iturraspe hugs Muniain and presses a kiss to his forehead. Iker looks away, feeling slightly uncomfortable witnessing Iturraspe’s human side making an appearance.  
  
“Just hold on,” Iker says firmly. “I’m not as powerless from here as you may think.”  
  
*  
  
Sergio is almost shaking when he, Dani and Hélder walk up to the hovercraft. The memories are still too vivid, both those of the Games when he was entering the hovercraft himself, and of last year, when he watched Bojan enter it. He‘s scolded himself many times for keeping a sparkle of hope back then when he knew there was no hope. He remembers Diego Alves shaking his hand, way more composed than he‘s ever seen any tribute, and he gulps. If only he knew what was about to start...  
  
He‘d still do nothing about it.  
  
“Sergio?” Dani’s voice cuts through the barrier of the past he’s surrounded himself with.  
  
“What?” Sergio looks at him.  
  
“It’s time,” Dani says and pulls him into something that resembles a hug. “One thing. Don’t trust Jonas.”  
  
“W-what do you mean?” Sergio looks at him.  
  
“Don’t trust him. Don’t speak with him about anything important. He’s now one of them, Sergio.”  
  
“B-but... it’s Jonas!” Sergio objects.  
  
“It’s no longer the Jonas you used to know,” Dani shakes his head. “The Capitol made sure of that.”  
  
*  
  
The mentors are gathered in their lounge, waiting for the Games to start. They pay no attention to the host‘s excited speculations about what the arena will look like, because the host obviously knows nothing more than they do.  
  
Then the picture changes and they are able to watch the tributes in their tubes.  
  
“Fuck!” Koke says the moment the arena comes into view.  
  
Snow. Snow everywhere. Cristiano shudders at the memories of the arena he faced years ago.  
  
The arena is bowl-shaped, encircled by forests, and what the tributes are standing on is actually the tip of a mountain in the middle. There is little to no snow on it, so probably it’s warmer towards the center of the arena. Clever trick. Unless the tributes want to freeze, they have to stay where the Gamemakers want them to stay.  
  
The countdown begins. The cameras, most likely instructed by Mou, are focusing on the tributes he wants them to focus on – Suárez, who clearly cannot wait for the gong to ring, Aduriz and his calm expression, Muniain, who is almost shaking from excitement, Toni, who looks a bit more anxious than before, but still fairly optimistic.  
  
The gong rings off.  
  
Iker breathes a sigh of relief when James doesn’t even try to go after the supplies scattered around and starts running down the mountain immediately. On the other side of the circle, Daniel Carrico has the same strategy. To everyone’s surprise, they are the only ones.  
  
 _Éver Banega is fighting for a backpack with two other tributes. The Rayo Vallecano tributes actually go against each other because there is a sleeping bag they both want. Suárez is running around like a child on Halloween, ignoring the supplies and going after whoever crosses his way.  
  
Marc Bartra, the one Marc Bartra who never did anything more violent than making a fishing hook in the training room, spots one of the Celta Vigo tributes bending over to pick up a knife, jumps on his back and preys the knife from his hand, burying it in the boy’s chest.  
  
Aduriz and Muniain are acting like the other tributes are not even there, making way to the Cornucopia calmly.  
  
Gabi seems to have a clear idea of what he wants to get and Godín is backing him up with an axe he managed to get hold of. He even has time to make Diego Costa jokes in the process._  
  
The whole bloodbath takes way more time than it did last year. The tributes probably learned from the previous Games and they’re refusing to leave with nothing. Sergio is biting his nails, watching Dani and Hélder somehow escaping the worst scrum but still refusing to leave.  
  
“Get out, get out, somehow, anyhow...” he keeps mumbling to himself.  
  
 _Someone has clearly found a bow with arrows because those start flying around, one of them hitting Wellington and thus allowing Esteban Granero to escape with a small backpack he had been willing to sacrifice his life for. The cameras reveal the shooter eventually. It’s Xabi Prieto, shooting from the construction of the Cornucopia.  
  
“Tell the fucker to stop wasting arrows and come down,” Aduriz calls at Muniain. “We can manage this with other weapons.”_  
  
“Fuck!” Iker mumbles. “Prieto? Really?”  
  
He turns around and meets Ander Iturraspe’s eyes. There is no sign of the human side of him when the Bilbao mentor smiles contentedly.  
  
“The game is on, Casillas,” he whispers.  
  
*  
  
 _The cameras only remember the runaways when the bloodbath is over. Daniel Carrico isn’t really looking for any hideout, he seems to be rather fine with staying in the open.  
  
James finds a cave and has enough common sense to throw a few stones inside before approaching it. It looks empty, which is good and bad at the same time. He decides to get some tree branches to make the ground warmer and more comfortable when it gets darker, though he’s not sure it will help much. He’s freezing already.  
  
Esteban Granero finds out that his backpack contains things necessary for starting a fire. He’s now deciding whether it will be better to freeze to death or to be killed by other tributes who will inevitably find him when he starts a fire.  
  
Gabi and Godín are still together, with Godín carrying the axe and a huge bag that could contain a tent, while Gabi has a spear and a smaller backpack._  
  
Koke, Villa and Sara high-five when the cameras show it.  
  
 _There’s no sight of Suárez when the cameras return to the Cornucopia. There are only Aduriz, Muniain and Prieto going through the supplies left.  
  
Then the cameras finally find Suárez, relieving all sponsors who have their bets on him when he appears, carrying a short sword and something that looks like a sleeping bag._  
  
Sergio has no fingernails left. There is no sight of Dani nor Hélder. The host is explaining something about the construction of the arena, interviewing one of Mourinho's assistants, who confirms that indeed the temperature drops towards the edges of the arena.  
  
 _Then the cameras shift back to Daniel Carrico. Nobody gets why exactly a tribute like that should interest anyone, but then something cracks on the side the camera isn’t showing, and Daniel turns around.  
  
“Damn you, you ran far,” Hélder’s breathy voice says.  
  
“Better than staying close to Suárez and the Basque duo,” Daniel replies.  
  
“It’s a trio now,” Dani Parejo steps into the picture and hands Daniel a spare knife. “Let’s find some of the others before it gets too dark.”_  
  
*  
  
James gathers the courage to come out of the cave when it gets darker and spends some time breaking off the branches of some pines around the cave. He only then realizes that when someone sees them, they will know someone was there and probably discover the cave. He scolds himself immediately because it means he will have to leave that place in the morning. When it’s dark nobody will notice, so he at least has the night.  
  
He settles by the cave’s entrance to look at the sky when the anthem sounds.  
  
The first face to appear is the one of Giovani dos Santos from Villarreal. It means that Toni is still alive. So are all the favorites and even both Sevilla tributes.  
  
Santi Mina’s face follows. James remembers seeing him fight over a knife with Marc Bartra. He now knows the result of the fight.  
  
Pape Diop from Levante is next, followed by Wellington from Málaga and Antonio Amaya from Rayo Vallecano. Then the sky goes dark.  
  
James leans over the cold stone wall.  _Only five._  It’s worse than he had thought. Even tributes nobody paid attention to before made it out of the bloodbath. There are still eighteen tributes in the arena, any of them likely to kill him.  
  
A distant voice rouses him and he quickly lies down on the ground, covering himself with a few bigger pine branches. The voices are calling at each other quietly. The Careers are on a hunting mission.  
  
*  
  
“I swear that I hit him!” Xabi Prieto says and then avoids a branch coming at him after Muniain walking in front of him had pushed it out of his way.  
  
“Enough for him to bleed to death somewhere without our help?” Aduriz asks.  
  
“I don’t know. But I hit him.”  
  
“It’s great that you’re so proud of yourself hitting one tribute after wasting twenty arrows,” Muniain growls. “Well, two, you did get Wellington. But still, why Itu wanted us to take you in is beyond me.”  
  
“Well, if he really did hit Kroos, he will be hiding somewhere, waiting for Cristiano to send him some help,” Aduriz says. “He’s not a priority now.”  
  
“Who’s a priority?” Prieto asks.  
  
“I want to get Bartra before he has time to make an alliance with someone,” Aduriz says.  
  
“Like with Suárez?” Muniain laughs.  
  
“There are plenty other tributes he could make an alliance with,” Aduriz says in the same calm voice, like nothing Muniain says or does can make him angry.  
  
Suddenly Prieto stops and shushes them.  
  
“What?” Aduriz whispers. “Do you hear anything?”  
  
“No,” Prieto says. “I  _smell_  something. Smoke.”  
  
Muniain almost giggles at him sniffing around.  
  
“Someone made a bonfire over there,” he says contentedly then and points in one direction.  
  
“Well, let’s make them warm for the last time in their lives,” Aduriz smirks and pulls out his sword.  
  
*  
  
Cristiano is cursing under his breath as he’s walking down the long corridors of the headquarters.  _Fucking Prieto. He has no shooting skills whatsoever, but in the chaos around the Cornucopia he was bound to his someone._  Why the someone had to be Toni is beyond Cristiano. He’s always lucky in the Games. He could almost start believing in karma punishing him for what he did to James, but then he berates himself. He’s Cristiano Ronaldo, karma wouldn’t dare.  
  
At least from what it looked like on TV, the wound isn’t fatal. But it’s still limiting. Toni needs to be alright if he’s to actually fight. Cristiano needs to send him some help as soon as possible. They’re actually lucky that it happened at the very beginning of the Games when the stuff isn’t as expensive as it will get later.  
  
He breathes a sigh of relief when he spots Zinedine Zidane lounging around in one of the countless bars. He puts on his professional face and makes way to him.  
  
“Mr. Zidane,” he flashes him his trademark smile.  
  
“Cristiano!” Zidane smiles.  
  
Cristiano sits on the stool and starts explaining the situation to him, focusing so much on emphasizing the right words of his prepared speech that he fails to notice that Zidane’s been trying to stop him for quite a while already.  
  
“I’m really sorry, Cristiano,” he says then and puts down an empty glass. “But my bet is on someone else this year.”  
  
Cristiano blinks. Zidane is still smiling politely, but it feels like a slap in the face.  
  
“S-someone else?” Cristiano blurts out.  
  
“Look, Cristiano, you were an amazing tribute,” Zidane says. “But let me tell you, there have been few good results of yours as a mentor.”  
  
“But... but Toni really has good chances!”  
  
“He’s lacking the brains,” Zidane states matter-of-factly. “You can’t kill anyone with a bright smile.”  
  
Cristiano purses his lips.  
  
“May I know who you consider a better tribute, then?”  
  
Zidane smiles condescendingly.  
  
“You know the bets are supposed to be secret,” he says. “But well, our relationship is kind of special, so I think I can tell you.”  
  
He takes another drink from the bartender and sips on it calmly.  
  
“I honestly think that this Parejo guy has slightly better chances,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for keeping you waiting so long... what happened actually was that I lost my death list *facepalms* and only found it again recently.


	5. Five

The careers make a clear strategy. It’s Aduriz the brain of their actions, and as long as he leaves the execution of them up to Muniain, Muniain is willing to oblige. Xabi Prieto is the one backing them up, seemingly happy with his role.  
  
Muniain approaches the person with fire from the center, with Aduriz and Prieto moving to the sides. The fire is now visible behind the small hill, they can smell the smoke. Muniain looks around to check his two allies are really backing him up, and then runs out of the woods.  
  
The person is Michael Krohn-Dehli, and he is sound asleep by the fire. Muniain almost dies of laughter when he sees him.  
  
In the next moment, though, he almost dies for real when Loukas Vyntra jumps off a tree in front of him, and Krohn-Dehli jumps up as well.  
  
Muniain avoids a huge branch that Vyntra is trying to hit him with, and raises his sword. Then an arrow flies through the space and Muniain jumps back.  
  
“Prieto, fuck,  _no_!” he yells.  
  
Luckily Aduriz is there with his sword before Prieto can attempt more shots. His sword is clearly a better weapon than the slingshot Krohn-Dehli has, and Muniain takes care of Vyntra as well, once Prieto grabs his branch from behind and manages to twist it out of his hands.  
  
“Fuck!” Muniain curses breathlessly, leaning over a tree. “Minions setting up traps for us! What is this?”  
  
“I think they got inspired by the last Games,” Aduriz says. “There were some minions doing well. One even won.”  
  
 _In the Capitol, Koke shows the Aduriz on the screen the middle finger._  
  
*  
  
The morning comes sooner than James expected. He’s still half-frozen, despite being covered with tree branches. He considers going back to the Cornucopia, but remembers Iker warning him not to do it, and he has no reason to think there wouldn’t be anyone there.  
  
He doesn’t want to run into Suárez so soon. Well, he doesn’t want to run into Suárez  _at all_. At night, to keep himself awake, he tried to name all the tributes in his head, and he kept thinking about which one he would want to be the one to kill him, if he could choose. Suárez was among the worst options, together with the Basques and Banega, who just looks scary without any particular reason.  
  
When there is enough light to at least make out the shapes of things, James leaves his cave and goes to find another hideout.  
  
*  
  
Cristiano is still fuming. He didn’t manage to talk any sense into Zidane, nor did he find any other rich sponsors for Toni. He did find some women who found Toni cute, but they weren’t rich enough and their contributions were only enough for some bandages. He sent those to Toni anyway because they were better than nothing. He would at least be able to move around without leaving blood traces all over the arena.  
  
The screens are showing the night action in the meanwhile. The fight between the Basques and Krohn-Dehli and Vyntra is the highlight. Definitely it’s more interesting than Roberto Trashorras falling off an overhang when he was trying to climb back to the Cornucopia.  
  
Most of the mentors are still asleep. Iturraspe is sleeping on Llorente’s shoulder, wrapped up in a blanket. Koke fell asleep in an armchair and Carles Puyol just went to his room to sleep because the years spent being a mentor made him kind of numb, so he’s not afraid of missing his tribute’s death.  
  
Then the small square reading “LIVE” shows on the screen and Cristiano moves closer to the screen. Luis Suárez is inspecting the trees with broken branches. Cristiano pokes Iker in the ribs. Iker wakes up from the drowse and focuses his gaze on the screen.  
  
Suárez follows the traces all the way to the cave, then takes out his short sword and jumps in. To everyone’s surprise, the muffled sounds of a fight sound from there and a few minutes later, Suárez climbs out of the cave, blood splashed over his jacket and sword covered in blood as well.  
  
Iker swallows hard and looks at Cristiano.  
  
“It doesn’t make sense,” he whispers. “He went away! He did, we saw it!”  
  
“Well, can we rely on the cameras?” Cristiano shrugs.  
  
The cameras are still showing Suárez cleaning his sword. Iturraspe wakes up, looks at the screens and asks “Who died?” in a voice so flat that everyone in the room shudders.  
  
Then the cheerful face of the host appears on the screens.  
  
“I think you are all now a bit confused,” he grins. “But isn’t the suspense exciting?”  
  
“No, not really!” Iker yells as though the host can hear him.  
  
“Well, let’s take a look inside,” the host says and the scene changes.  
  
Suárez is back inspecting the branches, then he climbs in the cave. Now the scenes from inside the cave are shown. They reveal that when James left, Ikechukwu Uche most likely thought it was safe to hide from the cold in the cave.  
  
Iker sighs a breath of relief. In the corner of the room, the old deaf former victor from Villarreal gets up, leans over his cane and looks at one of Mourinho's men.  
  
“Well, they’re both dead,” he says. “Can I go home now?”  
  
*  
  
James spends a good portion of the day sitting on a tree. It’s a relatively good hideout, at least he can see everyone and almost nobody can see him, but it’s not the tactics that would be getting him anywhere close to winning. Mainly because there isn’t any food up in the trees, and it’s not very warm up there either.  
  
In the afternoon he decides to climb down and just try to do something. Whatever Iker says, he can’t win the Games for him from the Capitol. So James still has two options – to win or to die trying. Both sound better than sitting somewhere, waiting for death.  
  
He makes way where he believes the center of the arena lies. It might be more dangerous out there, but also warmer. And if he wants to survive another night, he needs to find a warmer place.  
  
The problem with the center of the arena is that it’s fairly more difficult to find hiding places. There are more clearings and empty spaces. James tries to cross one running and hide among the trees that lie behind it.  
  
Only that someone is already hiding there.  
  
Esteban Granero walks out, carrying a makeshift spear that, despite being made of a branch and a stone tied to it, still looks menacing enough. And Granero looks fairly determined to use it. He lifts the hand with the spear and aims.  
  
In that moment, Marc Bartra appears behind his back like he materializes out of thin air, and cuts his throat swiftly while his face remains void of any expression.  
  
James scrambles back to get out of his reach, convinced that Marc will now go after him because he has him served right there. But when a branch cracks under someone’s feet behind James, he realizes that he maybe will have the option to choose who will write his name on their list of kills.  
  
If they let him choose.  
  
He turns around and looks at Gabi who is standing there, catching his breath like he had been running. But Gabi isn’t looking at him, he is looking at Marc and the dead tribute on the ground.  
  
“Marc?” he prompts.  
  
“It’s alright,” Marc says. “I was keeping an eye on him.”  
  
“Good,” Gabi breathes out and then  _winks_ at James. “Seems like our bird is safe.”  
  
“ _What?_ ” James blurts out.  
  
Dani Parejo steps out of the woods near the place where Marc is standing and nods to all the other tributes.  
  
“Wait... he doesn’t know about it?” Marc asks, looking at James and his confused face.  
  
“It seems like he doesn’t have a clue,” Gabi smiles.  
  
“What am I supposed to know?” James asks and blinks when Diego Godín appears by Gabi’s side, smiling as well. “What are you talking about? What are you even doing here?”  
  
“Poor thing, Iker could have at least given him a hint,” Godín grins.  
  
“Well, boy, we are talking about a certain plan,” Gabi says and hauls him up. “And we are here to get you out of this arena alive.”


End file.
